


But Oh, She Dances Such A Way!

by heymacareyna



Category: Shugo Chara!
Genre: "shut up and dance with me" references, Alcohol, Dancing, F/M, Future Fic, High School Reunion, Pining, School Reunion, Twenty-Somethings, amuto is mentioned in passing once - it's barely in here at all, bc they're adults and have grown up, drinking involved but no one's plastered, nagihiko and rima are actually friends, nagihiko has been in love with rima for years of course haha, slightly dom!Rima, slightly sub!Nagihiko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heymacareyna/pseuds/heymacareyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title is a quote from "A Ballad upon a Wedding" by Sir John Suckling.<br/>A few lines are direct quotes from "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon because I am songfic trash.</p></blockquote>





	But Oh, She Dances Such A Way!

“So when I said, ‘A high school reunion sounds painful,’ and you said, ‘It’s gonna be great,’ you were thinking…?” Nagihiko made a show of looking around the dressed-up ballroom at all the people he had hoped never to see again after he graduated. Twice. He now had a college degree from _America;_ shouldn’t that be enough for an exemption?

Amu elbowed him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Shut up. You’ve been here five minutes. I’m the only person you’ve talked to. And besides, you had a million friends. I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Yeah, okay, Miss ‘Cool and Spicy,’” he teased her. “Don’t sound so bitter. You had plenty of friends yourself.”

She blushed but didn’t deny it. Instead she spun slowly on her heel to take in the crowds, craning her neck to look for familiar faces. Nagihiko sighed and sipped from a clear plastic cup filled with ruby-pink punch—then choked a little. Not just punch in the bowl. He forced himself to swallow; the vodka burned a line down his chest into his stomach. He set the cup aside and flexed his long fingers to work out the slight buzz.

“Oh!” Amu’s voice jumped with surprise. “Rima’s here!”

On instinct Nagihiko turned to look in the same direction. A flush warmed his cheeks that had surely come from the swallow of alcohol. “She is?” He couldn’t make her out anywhere.

“Yeah, she told me she wouldn’t be able to make it, but there she is!” Amu raised a hand and waved. “Rima!”

The crowds shifted, parting like the Red Sea to reveal… Nagihiko’s breath caught in his throat. Blindly he reached for his drink again. He was going to need some more alcohol in him to get through tonight.

Head high, Rima glided through the parted crowd, golden curls bouncing with each step she took. He hadn’t seen her in person since they parted ways for college, and Skype never did anyone justice. So to realize just how well adulthood had treated her… She still bore the petite bone structure and deceptively sweet face she always had, but now baby fat had matured into the soft angles of a woman, curving clear lines and an understated hourglass figure. The classic scarlet dress draped her perfectly, hinting at a small waist and flaring out at the hips. He could have strangled some of the guys who were blatantly staring, then himself because he knew he was just as bad.

She focused on Amu as she neared, but once she’d come close enough, she noticed Nagihiko, and to his pleased surprise, her prim eyebrows jumped just a little and her gaze held his.

He felt the urge to bow (to curtsy, even) but suppressed it, acknowledging her with a nod and a smile. Her lips curved in a tiny tilted smile, and his own widened to a friendly grin. For a split second—he saw it!—her gaze flicked down his body then up again before she redirected her attention back to Amu. Vodka and pleasure mixed hot in his stomach.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t gonna be able to make it!” Amu bent to hug Rima, who rose up on her tiptoes to return it.

The blonde’s voice remained as soft-spoken as it had the day they all graduated together. “Unfortunately, my other plans fell through.” She let go of her best friend and sighed. “I thought going to college meant I didn’t have to deal with this anymore.”

Nagihiko laughed, and when she turned to him with curiosity in a cocked eyebrow, he explained, “I was just saying the same thing five minutes ago.”

She cracked another smile. “Good to know it’s not just me.”

Amu threw up her hands. “Guys, come on. We aren’t twelve anymore. You can handle a little social interaction.”

“It’s not socializing that’s the problem,” Nagihiko explained patiently. “It’s—”

“It’s feeling like I’m back in fucking high school,” Rima completed, her lackadaisical sweet voice at utter odds with her strong words. Nagihiko bit the inside of his lip to keep from snorting.

Amu jumped a little at the profanity and glanced around, probably looking for anyone acting offended. But in a room full of twenty-somethings, the word hadn’t made a difference. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is,” they said in unison, and then glanced at each other with conspiratorial smiles.

She looked like she wanted to argue the point, but then her gaze flicked toward the entrance. “Oh, are they leaving already?”

Nagihiko looked to see who she meant but didn’t recognize the two girls slinking out the side door.

“I have to go say bye before they go,” Amu said, scooting between a talking couple. “Be right back!”

He laughed—well, coughed, really—and took the final swig of his drink. _Oh, that’s good stuff,_ he thought as it burned down his throat.

Rima watched him with a slightly cocked head. “Where’d you get that?” she asked, gesturing at the now-empty cup.

He hesitated, unsure what exactly she meant. “You want the regular stuff or the strong stuff?”

She pretended to laugh. “That’s not a funny joke. Don’t test me.”

The strong stuff, then. He nodded toward the refreshments table. “Second punch bowl.”

“No,” she said, “show me. You first.”

And agreeably he led the way for her, parting the sea of people even though he knew full well (and so did she) that she wouldn’t have had any trouble getting through. Not with the way she looked. Not with the way she carried herself.

 _Hey, stop,_ he told himself. _No thinking about Rima that way. Not tonight._ He’d promised himself on the drive there that he would let bygones be bygones and, more specifically, by-infatuations be by-infatuations. After five years, he really needed to move on.

As she reached for a freshly poured cup, he ladled himself a new serving. Better stock up now, before one of the school officials figured it out.

She gulped the drink and let out a tiny satisfied _ahh_. “Definitely the best thing about stupid reunions.”

He winced at the unintended blow and tried to shake it off. “How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I drove half an hour to get here. I should probably stay an hour just to balance out the gas and drive time.” She glanced at him, almost sizing him up. “You?”

He shrugged. “Probably the same. An hour, or whenever Amu gives up and leaves­—whichever comes first.”

She laughed, the sound warm with drink. “Yeah, good luck prying her away.”

“At least Tadase couldn’t come, or we’d never get her to leave,” he joked. The _we_ slipped out naturally, and it crossed his mind that Rima didn’t have to concern herself with his problem since she’d already decided when to leave. But she didn’t correct him, and the tiny crease in his brow smoothed out.

“Well, I told her I couldn’t come too, and then things changed,” she pointed out. “He could still show. If you see him, the code word is _sick_. As in, ‘oh, I’m suddenly feeling sick, I’d better head out _right this second.’”_

He laughed, and she beamed. She hadn’t changed that much, then. Underneath her detached mask, she still loved to make people laugh. The reminder made him yearn to take her hand in his… so he curled his fingers into his palm and shoved his fist into his pocket. He looked around for something, anything to distract him from the affection that he had apparently not gotten over yet. His gaze landed on an empty area blocked off. “Don’t they usually have dancing at these things?”

“I think you’re thinking of prom.” Her tone was mixed; he couldn’t tell if she meant it as a good or bad thing.

So he asked. “Would you, though? Dance? If they did have a time for it?”

Her eyes met his, pensive. “Would you?” she countered.

The question felt like a challenge, a nudge. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “Dancing is dancing. Even freestyling with a bunch of drunk post-high-schoolers.”

“Huh.” She shifted her weight, leaning into her hip. “I’d consider it, at least if it were drunk freestyling. That stuff is hilarious. Classic boring dance, maybe not.”

“It’s not boring!” he protested on instinct. “You just need—”

And a playful grin split her face, as if she’d been banking on a heartfelt reaction.

Slowly he closed his mouth. Shaking his head, he opened it again to tease her for being tricky.

But Amu came back then, and since she looked like she might smack them if they started up the mock-complaining again, the conversation fell at least temporarily into stilted small talk. How are you, how’s everyone, how was your trip, was the weather and traffic okay for you… Nagihiko dutifully answered and listened to answers, and he kept up his mask of easy civility until he slid his eyes toward Rima and found her almost tense with stiff awkwardness. He coughed to cover a laugh, and she recognized the sound. Her gaze cut to him, and she relaxed a little.

Thankfully the required questions ran out a minute later, and they fell back into the easy banter of three friends. The years apart dissolved as if all three of them had been together the whole time. Another refill of their drinks didn’t hurt either.

But then later, as the DJ began to play some music from the dance floor, Amu brightened and brought up The Question, conveniently forgotten in the original slew:

“Any luck in the dating arena?” she asked hopefully. No ring on her finger, Nagihiko noticed, but he knew without a doubt that her relationship with Ikuto was well on its way there. Of course she wanted everyone else to be just as happy; the problem was that they weren’t and didn’t want to hear about what they were missing.

He only shook his head, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Or to offer any hint that he hadn’t exactly dated around in America because Rima had owned his heart since middle school.

 “Dating is from hell,” the blonde muttered into her cup. “I like friends. I like spending time with people I like. But I _hate_ going out on dates.”

He burned, even though logically he knew the comment hadn’t been aimed at him. He’d been thinking about it; she probably knew. And laughed about it behind his back.

Okay, no, that was ridiculous. He shook himself and took another swallow. The sharpened buzz helped him shake the melodramatic negative thoughts.

He glanced at her and found her already looking his way. She held his gaze, and he felt it in his chest.

“No, you must’ve just had some bad experiences,” Amu insisted. “I could maybe set you guys up with some of my friends from school, if you want.” Her expression softened, turned dreamy. “I mean, I can’t imagine what I’d do without Ikuto around…”

He wasn’t sure what happened then, but a tiny warm hand touched the inside of his elbow, and before he could react he was being pulled away.

“Don’t look back, or she’ll start again,” Rima warned him in an undertone, pulling him toward the dance floor slowly filling with former students. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

He eyed her, suspicious. She was _touching him._ Was this a trick? There had to be something she wasn’t telling him. “You’re holding back.”

A pink flush warmed her cheeks. “Shut up and just dance with me.”

They hit the floor and were swept up into the song and the crowd. Nagihiko felt the music deep in his chest, and on impulse he tugged his arm back to pull Rima closer to him. She tilted her head up, eyes glowing with the buzz of alcohol and a favorite song, and she laced her fingers through his own and began to move.

 _Oh,_ could she move.

Closing her eyes, she twisted lazily to the beat, a smile on her face as she bobbed her head. He twisted with her; it was only natural. A bump from a neighbor knocked him closer, and though he was practically pressed against her, she didn’t back away. He grinned.

The music picked up, and she opened her eyes to bounce into a more upbeat dance, which was really just aggressive twisting and bouncing in place. He joined her, sometimes raising their entwined hands for her to twirl under. Once or twice she went too fast and stumbled into him, and each time she righted herself with an open-mouthed laugh spreading to warm her eyes. Years of dance training shouted that this was _so_ unprofessional, and he happily ignored the censure. He knew he had only desperation and a vodka buzz to thank for this, but he was going to appreciate every moment regardless.

After three fast songs’ worth of bouncing and twisting, Rima was flushed and panting, and although Nagihiko’s heart rate was barely up, he followed her off the dance floor for a short break. When they reached the drink table, she reached first for more punch, but he tapped the back of her hand.

She threw him a _don’t tell me what to do_ look.

He clarified, “That’ll make it worse. You need water.” When she still looked suspicious of following an instruction, he reminded her, _“Years_ of experience.”

She hesitated, then took a cup of each. She gulped a little spiked punch first, looking smug, but then drained her water. He accepted that as the best compliance she would offer.

He took some water himself, and they wandered off in search of fresh air. They found a string of glass double-doors that opened into a little patio garden lit with strings of white lights and spotted with benches and boulders. Rima in the lead, they followed the stone path a little way to get out of view of anyone who might look out through a window.

“I like dancing with you,” she decided, flopping down onto the bench. “You’re good at it.”

“I don’t think that counted,” he admitted, “but thank you.” He sat beside her under the pretense of wanting to be ready to catch her if she fell over. Even though he knew full well she was only buzzed, not full-out drunk, and therefore unlikely to tip over.

She let her head loll back, baring her neck, and gave a contented sigh. “This actually hasn’t been half bad,” she admitted. “Other than being singleness-harassed by Amu, I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would. You’re fun when you’re not being all sportsy and goody-two-shoes.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that. Was there a compliment hidden in there somewhere? “Uh…”

She cast him a small rueful smile. “Kidding. Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, I apologize. What I mean is… I’ll admit—tonight only—we’re friends.”

 _“Ohh,”_ he teased her, “thanks for clearing that up. I was worried.” Years ago, he would have been, but now he knew better. Although, he was certainly never going to turn down a reminder. He’d worked hard to get here.

She rolled her eyes and huffed out a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he continued. “If I decide I don’t want to hang out with you anymore, all I have to do is outrun you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Lips pursed, she glanced back at him. “I kind of wish I were athletic. As it is, if you ever catch me running, you better start running too, because there’s something bad chasing me.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. The compliment held up his buzz. He found himself saying, “Not to worry. You work.”

Her brow furrowed. “I work?” she asked, emphasis on the verb like she thought he meant a career.

His slowed mind struggled to find the right words. “No, I mean _you_ —” He gestured up, down, and around to signify _Rima_ , Rima as a person, Rima as a hurt ornery girl grown up into a magical ornery woman. “— _you_ work.”

It took her a second, but when the return compliment caught up with her, a warm pink dusting flushed her from collarbone to forehead. She turned her head just enough that she was no longer looking him in the eye. “Thanks.”

At first he wondered at the shy response. After all, she had grown up being fawned over by her “servants.” But then he realized the distinction: the people who fawned over her never knew her for herself, only what they saw from the outside. This was a confession more personal, more honest, more raw. For both of them.

The song ended inside, and nothing started up again. _Is it done?_ he asked himself, surprised at the weight of disappointment. He’d kind of hoped to dance with Rima more before she left—which, now, he realized, might be any minute. He’d left his phone with Amu, so he didn’t know what time it was, but with the moon well up, he wouldn’t doubt if it were ten or later. And he had no delusions that Rima would stay just to play a little longer. They had made it this far, farther than either of them had expected beforehand, but she would leave when she wanted and not a second later.

“What time is it?” she asked offhandedly, clearly thinking somewhere along the same lines as he was.

Out of habit he glanced at his wrist, though he wasn’t wearing a watch. “I don’t know. Maybe ten?”

With a little shrug, she made a _hmm_ sound at the back of her throat.

Hating himself for suggesting it, but not wanting to force her to stay, he asked, “Do you want to go in?” He knew she would take the out if she wanted it. Frankly, she didn’t need him to make an out for her at all; she would up and walk away without looking back if she decided she was done. A shadow of hurt stung his chest at the thought.

But she glanced over to him again, her head slightly cocked. “No,” she said finally, “let’s stay out here for a little longer.”

He said nothing, as he was sure to embarrass himself otherwise. But he did nod and lean back on his hands, and a smile curved his lips no matter how hard he tried to smooth it out. _Subtle_ , he mocked himself. _Why don’t you just make yourself a neon sign, ‘I’m completely and idiotically in love with this girl who’s hated my guts for most of her life’?_

 _But,_ he remembered, which made the smile even goofier, _she doesn’t hate me anymore._

He sneaked a glance at her, expecting to see her staring off into space or watching the reunion through the window. Instead he found her looking right back at him. “Sorry,” he started at the same time she said, “Are you back for good?”

He felt himself reel a little at the question, but she didn’t retract it, so he gathered his thoughts. “Back where? Back in Japan?”

She nodded. “You were in America for so long… I thought you would stay.”

He shrugged. “It was okay. Different. But it never felt like home, exactly.” His cheeks burned at the implications. “Anyway,” he started hastily, “I graduated in May and finally got all moved back here last week. For good, I hope, though who really knows.”

She smiled a little, even though she tried to hide it. “Oh. Okay. Well, you know, we should… catch up. Get coffee or something. Maybe even not put vodka in it.”

“I wouldn’t count that out completely,” he joked, pulling a face, and he grinned when she actually laughed. _Point, Nagi,_ he congratulated himself. “And yeah, we should. I’d like that.”

Her smile widened, and she shifted toward him. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course.” He leaned toward her, smelling the afterhaze of blueberries—maybe from the punch, maybe from Rima herself—and wishing he could taste it. His gaze flicked to her mouth. Immediately he looked back up, but she smiled with her eyes. He felt more than saw her fingers brush against his jaw, turning his face more towards hers.

“Nagihiko,” she said, giving his name just the hint of an order, “I want you to kiss me.”

Arousal warmed him to the core. He gave a tiny nod. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

In an undertone that both teased and commanded: “And it better not suck. I drove half an hour to get here.”

He laughed and nodded again. “Yes, ma’am.” Then she closed her eyes, and he pressed his lips to hers.

The contact was warm and wet since they’d both been drinking, but he slid one hand around the back of her neck to knot in her fantasy-inducing hair. At the slight tug, she gasped a little, and he pressed harder into her, determined to take this opportunity while she offered it. This kiss might have to last him many a night if she turned out not to like him as much when she was sober.

But for this moment, at least, she seemed to want him there.

She met his rhythm, rocking with the oscillating pressure of the back-and-forth exploration. Her warm hands hovered over his chest for a second before touching down to smooth upward, over his collarbones, over his shoulders, tucking inside the collar of his button-down to grip and rub bare skin. Accidentally groaning a little, he rolled his shoulders, far more in satisfaction than discomfort, but her fingertips dug in and then released him. She receded from him, their mouths parting with the lightest _pwckk_.

He opened his eyes to discern the reason and read concern in those whiskey eyes. “Rima?” he breathed more than said, his pulse jumpy.

She shook her head. “You didn’t—I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He knew she had a dominant streak a mile wide, and he welcomed it, but he guessed that here she meant more broadly, the physical sexual aching side of romance as a whole. She’d interpreted the movement as a lack of consent, a lack of desire to progress to hands-under-the-shirt level. And she’d backed off without needing to be asked.

 _This woman is my destiny,_ he thought in amazement, the words barely coherent even in his head.

What he managed to say out loud was “No—I did—it was good—great even. Please.” The _please_ offering came off his tongue naturally; he could plan out projects and group attacks well enough, but behind the scenes, he wanted to be told what to do, what worked, what pleased her. _Needed_ it, even.

Her expression cleared, and her gaze softened. “Oh. Okay.” She drew herself up, a small smile playing on her lips. “In that case, kiss me again.”

“Was it okay?” he asked, only half joking as he reached toward her.

She breathed out a mischievous laugh. “Believe me,” she reassured him, “it was worth the drive.” And she closed the distance herself.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from "A Ballad upon a Wedding" by Sir John Suckling.  
> A few lines are direct quotes from "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon because I am songfic trash.


End file.
